


Hostage

by CoyoteGhost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A vague reference to r76, Ana loves Jesse like a son, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Failed Suicide Attempt, Gabriel tries his best, Hostage Situation, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, a little bit of fluff here and there, but still a lot of angst, supportive jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:04:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoyoteGhost/pseuds/CoyoteGhost
Summary: This was supposed to be simple. Nobody should've gotten hurt, nobody should've been taken, but life wasn't always fair, was it?OrJesse is sent in to deal with a hostage situation. Despite it being over, Gabriel notices that something is very wrong.





	1. Don't Look Down

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, procrastinating on everything! 
> 
> Also, THANK GOD SOMEONE CAUGHT THIS FOR ME: this first bit is inspired by the DBH demo. I’m so glad it got pointed out, I thought I tagged it and I never did and I feel guilty ;-;
> 
>  
> 
> ***IMPORTANT***
> 
> I know some people don't read the tags, so I have to say this again: there's a failed suicide attempt in this, along with a conversation about it. If that bothers you, PLEASE do not read this! I don't want anyone to hurt!

When Overwatch proper had requested to take over one of Blackwatch's assignments, naturally they were loathe to agree. The only reason Gabriel had said yes was because it had a high potential to become a public affair; it certainly wasn't their typical modus operandi. That was Jack's territory, not his, and thankfully, this was simple and easy. There was hardly any way to fuck it up.

So how could it have ended like this?

The mission had gone south so fast that there was hardly any time to process the situation, let alone prepare for the consequences. Blackwatch had been tasked with something familiar; quickly and quietly eradicating part of an expansive gang terrorizing civilians. The leaders in the area had requested it be done under the radar. In, out, and all evidence gone. No need to cause mass hysteria, they had said, so of course Blackwatch entered the scene. The only problem was that the city was Los Angeles, and the whole "quickly and quietly" part was extremely improbable. If they were having to drive the gang members out of their rat's nest and into the streets, there was no doubt in Gabriel's mind that _someone_  would see them. It was why Jack had even asked to take the mission in the first place, to keep Reyes out of the public eye (Gabriel also had the sneaking suspicion that it was for publicity, but hey, what did he know?).

Overwatch couldn't go in blind. Without the accumulated knowledge of its sister organization, they would fail, but honestly there wasn't a lot to go by anyways. They knew around how many members they could expect, their general tactics, and perhaps even what weapons they were most likely to use, but it was all just estimations. The only thing they knew for sure was which building the main quarters were located in. It was thirteen stories high, a relatively new hotel that was bustling and bright, the pentacle of luxury. It seemed to be that the gang and the socially elite worked hand in hand; from what Blackwatch could gather, in exchange for designer drugs and illegal goods, the gang had been granted amnesty.

"Seems like nearly each room's got its own drug runner, especially the penthouses," Jesse had told him. He had rolled his eyes, bitterly adding, "And ain't it just _so coincidental_ that some of the elected officials live up at the top? Those are the same damn people who ordered this eradication shit. Rich bastards. Hell, the Governor practically takes up the entire roof. He's got a zen garden with a fucking _waterfall_ up there, Gabe."

Jesse and the rest of the Strike Team could only dig up so much, with all of that being the extend of their findings, but they had done their jobs well; they had enough information to flush out the rats. When Jack decided to take over, even though Overwatch was given the information and had free range over their actions, Blackwatch was still asked to stick around. That's how Gabriel became stuck with a very aggrieved Jesse, twenty stories high on an adjacent building with a razor-cold wind chilling them to the bone.

"We've been here for what? Four hours? Fuck, maybe even five?" McCree had been complaining for all four hours and thirty-seven minutes of being on the roof. Gabriel had counted. "And we have to sit here on the roof of some fucking building. I'm pretty sure my pants are freezing to the damn ground. Fuck Morrison, he can kiss my ass."

"He's pretty damn good at it at this point, I think he likes it," Gabe added, throwing gasoline on Jesse's flame. As much as he hated the complaining, it was better than boredom; besides, McCree had made some pretty creative phrases to tell someone to go fuck themselves.

With Gabriel egging him on, he continued to ramble out phrases involving 'Fuck Morrison' with a vengeance, using every possible combination of words that he could to convey his annoyance at their situation.

He did have one thing right, though. It was unnaturally cold in LA tonight, even for winter; the normal low was around forty, but it was _easily_ thirteen or so degrees lower, and the wind cutting through their skin really wasn't helping. If Reyes hadn't shared the same sentiment as Jesse, he would've laughed at the kid's reaction. Little desert brat. Coldness certainly wasn't his strong suit.

With an apathetic eye, Gabriel watched as Jesse rubbed his hands together, his cheap drug store gloves proving to be a hindrance in bringing back warm to his fingers. He lifted them up to his face and blew warm breath onto them, but roughly stuck them into his too-thin coat once he realized the futility of the action. Not a second later, McCree pulled them back out into the insufferable cold. He was miserable.

The sniper rifle that Ana had allowed Jesse to borrow had gone unused for a few hours, yet McCree still dutifully peered through the scope (he wasn't in proper shooting position anymore, and instead chose to sit cross legged on the roof). Gabriel knew he was incisively observing the streets for any disturbances he could take care of; he also knew the snowflakes freezing to McCree's lashes didn't help that task. As an afterthought, Gabriel realized just how much the freezing metal of the gun would bite into Jesse's skin, and he almost felt bad the kid had to wear fingerless gloves.

Neither McCree nor himself were dressed in their mission-typical clothing and armor. No Blackwatch agent on this mission was. They all donned civilian clothing, retaining only their weapons and holsters. If they had to run to keep from being spotted, hiding in plain sight with the normal people of Los Angeles seemed like the best option. Gabriel's clothes weren't particularly divergent from his normal get-up; black pants, black boots, black sweatshirt, and a black beanie (maybe he should take Ana's advice on adding a bit more color to his closet). Although he didn't like the cold, his clothes were warm enough for him, especially with SEP to keep his temperature even. Jesse, on the other hand, had it _way_ worse off.

They had bought his clothes quick and in a hurry, and he was left with the devastating results of a lack of proper judgement. His zip-up black jacket was too thin, his gloves threadbare and itchy, and his trademark hat and boots had disappeared, replaced with cheap knockoff Toms and a bare head of shaggy hair. Too underdressed for the frigidness of the night.

Now feeling a twinge of pity, Gabriel moved from his spot and sat behind Jesse (he trusted Gabe, so he barely moved an inch from his position). His entire body enveloped McCree and Reyes pulled him to sit back against his chest. Of course Jesse went willingly. While propping his head on the other's shoulder, Gabriel wrapped his hands around Jesse's and started to rub the stiffness out of them.

"Why the fuck didn't you do this earlier?" Jesse joked, snuggling farther back into Reyes. "I've been freezing my ass off!"

Gabriel laughed, peppering McCree's skin with soft, gentle kisses. Although he couldn't see them in the low light, he knew each and every freckle on Jesse's skin. He knew where every single mark and scar had formed, knew which ones had healed, which ones hurt, and how he had gotten most of them. If he thought long enough, Gabriel could convince himself that he could feel the jagged edges of the nastily healing gashes on McCree's back. Angela had done the best she could to soften the effects of oncoming scarring, but they were still there, still painfully noticeable every time Jesse shed his clothing, sometimes still bleeding through the stitches if he pushed too hard. Those wounds were new, a week old at most, and they were so very tender that Gabriel was almost afraid to put too much pressure on them (even if Jesse _did_  bleed now, the dark fabric of the jacket would hide it). McCree should be resting, but life wasn't always fair like that.

Decisively ignoring his thoughts, Gabriel began to nose along Jesse's throat to where another scar had formed. It was a nick that had been there long before McCree had joined Blackwatch, barely noticeable and graciously small, but still there. Just like the others, it would be a permanent mark on his skin, and Reyes couldn't help but wish he could've prevented all of the pain that had caused them.

"How about I make it up to you later?" Gabriel said, "Nice, warm bed, some of Ana's tea, maybe procrastinate on paperwork for the night-"

"That'll be the best part. No fucking paperwork," Jesse added.

"Well, you're sure as shit not wrong about that."

McCree tentatively stretched his back, then turned his head a fraction to look at Gabe. "Not that I don't want to spend the night with you, you know I do, but what about Morrison? I know we're gonna put off doing paperwork, but do you think he'll be knocking on your door for reports tonight instead of tomorrow? It's just... a bit risky, you know?"

Gabriel chose to bury his head into Jesse's neck without speaking. He didn't want to answer.

It might've been that whatever he and McCree had wasn't exactly official, that it couldn't be publicly known, but that didn't mean they loved each other any less because of it. They both came to the conclusion that they didn't _need_ to fill out paperwork, didn't _need_ someone else's validation. They knew what they had.

Well, sort of.

Neither of them seemed particularly willing to bring up whatever relationship they'd made for themselves, because neither of them wanted to risk ruining everything. And why gamble that luxury for some vague form of clarity? It was comforting to know that you had somebody to return to after a mission gone wrong, that your bed would be warmed, that you wouldn't be alone when facing the terrors that night always seemed to bring.

Jesse's own sleep had worsened after two previous missions (the last one having resulted in the wounds on his back), and despite the lingering threat of Jack finding them out, Gabriel was reluctant to leave McCree alone. It worried him, that's all. But out on the roof, with his lips against Jesse's skin, Reyes didn't have to fret; even if he wanted to, he couldn't help but be warmed and comforted by the soft laughter that filled the air. They were both happy, and didn't they deserve that much?

"If it makes you feel any better, Morrison and his band of merry men should be close to finishing the eradication," Reyes said, choosing not to answer the original question. "We'll be able to move and you can go get a hot meal."

"I'm buying it on Overwatch's card."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, placing a chaste kiss on Jesse's neck. "Spiteful bastard."

From where they were hiding out, Reyes could see what was going down on the street. He was suddenly glad Jack had taken the mission; what seemed to be the entire state's police force had shown up to cooperate and assist, preventing traffic from coming through while forming a blockade around the building. The real action, though, was happening inside of the glistening hotel. The flashes from the guns seemed to ricochet and shatter off the expansive windows, and it would almost be pretty if it weren't the harbinger for the massacre that was occurring behind the glass.

So far, he and Jesse had been lucky; McCree had been tasked to pick off any of the runners on the southwestern side of the building, with Gabriel there to guard him. Two of his other agents were doing the same on the northeastern side of the building. Ana was stationed somewhere in between. After the first hour, maybe hour and a half, all of the stragglers had been eliminated. Not even ten minutes later, McCree had started to whine and moan about how cold it was and how he was so bored he could die. If it weren't for the loud police sirens below and the petulant crying (again, Reyes blamed himself for making it worse, but whining be damned, he was bored), Gabriel could've found this to be almost peaceful.

But of fucking course his semblance of peace couldn't last. When his comm crackled and came to life, both he and Jesse nearly jumped out of their skins, and they separated with a pang of remorse. Morrison's voice came through; Reyes automatically didn't like where this was going.

"Reyes, report," Jack said. His voice was tightly strained, a sign of stress that Gabriel had come to know too well. "What are you doing at this moment?"

"McCree and I are on standby. What do you need?"

There was a pause, a sharp hiss of static, before Jack responded.

"Top floor. We have a hostage situation."

Gabriel and Jesse both looked at each other, and without hesitation, McCree began to deconstruct his rifle to put back into its case. Similarly, Gabriel began to throw any miscellaneous supplies they had back into the bag they carried with them.

"Buy us some time," Reyes said, "We're on our way."

\----

The two of them got to the building in record time, and would've been there faster if Reyes didn't have to threaten the Overwatch agent guarding the door to let them in. They were swift, yes, but the elevator was not; it was faster than running up thirteen flights of stairs, but it still felt agonizingly slow. Time was of the essence.

As soon as the doors shut, Jesse turned to face Gabriel. His expression was... unsettling? Truthfully, Reyes couldn't pinpoint the exact feeling he got when McCree looked the way he did, especially since he had just witnessed how tender Jesse often was around him. But now, it was as if he had been made of nothing more than cold metal and rugged stone, no true emotion shining through the cracks. The assignment he had been given was the only thing that mattered. Gabriel supposed it was good to a certain extent, but not to the extreme that it was now. It was a bit of a shock to his system. To have Jesse show nothing, nothing at all? It made something in Reyes feel almost nauseous. It made his skin crawl, despite how rarely this version of McCree reared its ugly head.

"What's your plan?" Jesse asked. "What would you have me to do?" His normally honeyed voice had all but dissipated, and it only proved Gabriel's theory; Jesse only asked for his instructions. He held no true sympathy.

He did bring up a good point, though. What _was_ the plan? Honestly, Jack didn't tell him much, other than they had a hostage and it was on the top floor, the Governor's penthouse. That was literally it. There was hardly a way to formulate a plan from that, and so Reyes could only shrug with a sigh.

"We don't know the situation, so we'll have to proceed like we might out on the field; play it by ear, but don't be stupid. We try own damnedest to save the hostage, but," he glared at Jesse, trying to emphasize his point, "We have to prioritize ourselves and our survival. Something _you_ seem to have a problem with."

In all honesty, McCree really did have a problem with his situational prioritization, for better or worse; he was pretty damn effective in emotionally and psychologically dealing with others, but should that fail, he would never abandon his mission, even if it cost him his life. He had yet to come to terms with the fact that sometimes, there wasn't anything _anyone_ could do about certain casualties. He also didn't seem to realize that his life was worth so much more than how he treated it; if Jesse lived, he could go on to save more people in the future (and the fact that Reyes would be destroyed if Jesse died was completely irrelevant).

Gabriel was saved from Jesse's defensive lecture as the elevator doors opened with a soft ping, and before them laid a horrendous crime scene stained only by its opulence. It was a vast conglomeration of thousands, if not millions, of dollars poured into one single room. White marble floors and elaborate golden decorations greeted them, the entire back wall a sheer expanse of glass (Reyes could tell it was one-way, seeing out but not in), and the light inside was almost blinding; crystal chandeliers hung haughtily from the ceiling, and various paintings that seemed old and expensive were displayed on every available space. There were hardly any real internal walls. Instead, there seemed to be an open floor plan with the exception of what appeared to be two bedrooms to the left side of the penthouse. The doors were open, and Gabriel could just make out the dreary grey covering one room, no doubt belonging to an adult. A pastel periwinkle was flourishing gently in the next. It was a child's room, perhaps belonging to a little girl.

Shit.

With more scrutiny, Gabriel saw the telltale signs of the child's presence; little toys here and there, crayons and papers scattered on the large kitchen table, small butterfly stickers on miscellaneous surfaces. He could feel his heart stop; Reyes desperately hoped that it was the Governor being held hostage. Trying to reign his attention back from those dark inklings, Gabriel found himself focusing on the fact that if there weren't multiple bodies strewn around the inside and outside of the penthouse, blood splattering against the cold, crisp surroundings, then this place could've potentially been nice.

As both he and Jesse proceeded carefully, Jack rushed to meet them. He was beyond distressed, but he seemed slightly relieved with their arrival.

"I apologize in advance," Jack said, "Our negotiator and psychologist are off-sight, currently in Dubai, and Overwatch is ill-equipped to deal with this. You have extensive training for this sort of thing."

Jack wasn't wrong; the agents of Blackwatch were often trained thoroughly and frequently for these times of situations. You could never be too prepared in their line of work. Still, they always sent in their specialists when they could, and since they had multiple, they tried to have one for every mission. It didn't always work out that way, but it was a valiant effort. For Reyes's own Strike Team, despite McCree's lack of proper recognition, the other agents and himself had agreed that Jesse would take the roll of the negotiator. There had been no objections.

From the day they'd brought him in, Jesse had deceptively good charisma and an extensive understanding of how people worked, on what made them tick, and how to best anticipate their actions; Jesse had to, or so he had told Gabriel. Anyone who lacked those skills died quickly (and often brutally) in Deadlock. With proper training, those natural qualities flowered into an indispensable godsend. McCree's abilities were as sharp as a razor, cutting apart any given situation and sifting through the evidence he had gathered. It was done so beautifully with efficiency and ease; often times, he would successfully defusing the situation and detain the enemy, or when worse came to worst, he could distract their target long enough to kill them. It was always so clean, so effortless, like a well-oiled machine. And yet, the callousness with which he proceeded was almost concerning.

While turning back to face the room, Jack continued, "The good news is, the aggressor isn't going anywhere any time soon. Not as long as we stay on our side. Moving in is the difficult part."

Gabriel knew what he meant. This wasn't a 'we have ten seconds to reach the hostage' kind of situation, but was instead a standoff of sorts. He'd seen it before; as long as the enemy had the hostage, they could prolong their life and avoid the inevitable, and maybe they could even barter. One human life for another. With how Jack was talking, Gabriel now knew for certain that he would most likely be sending Jesse in. This was his specialty. With him, there _was_ no bartering, no deals to speak of. They were all lies, because the fastest way to get out of a deadlock was to get rid of the opposing party, and that's exactly what Jesse would do. Still, wanting to make sure McCree at least _seemed_ stable enough to proceed (with his lack of sleep, he might not have had the best mental health), Gabriel took the time to observe the kid's current state from his peripheral vision.

The look in those eyes appeared impossibly dark, and Gabe found himself regarding his agent warily, perhaps even nervous to some degree. How many times had he seen the same prevalent cataclysm of forbearance? Jesse held an expression of merciless calculation, and it was unsettlingly reminiscent of a deadly game of chess. Objective, driven, unfeeling. With roaming eyes, McCree took in every aspect of the area that he possibly could as he stepped farther into the room, now looking at the papers scattered across the table.

"If you're leaving this up to me, I'm planning on sending McCree in, not myself," Gabriel stated. The expression Jack gave him screamed of objection, but he continued before that lecture could begin. "I'm only good at interrogation, not negotiation. We both know that. But McCree? He hardly ever fails, even on the field. _Especially_ on the field. You and I both know he's more likely to succeed than either of us."

Jack seemed reluctant to agree, turning his gaze from Reyes to Jesse. The kid wasn't paying them any mind; he was wholly focused on the drawings at the table, then decisively on the rest of the room. One of his hands were stuffed down into his jacket pocket, seemingly smashing it against his side as if his hand hurt, or maybe it was still frozen from the cold. He was protecting it, but it was no real cause for concern for neither Jack nor Gabe. McCree would warm up eventually, cold hands or no. After a few seconds of lingering near the table, Jesse proceeded past a large group of the Overwatch agents fluttering about and walked patiently around the room.

Truthfully, Gabriel wasn't sure what McCree hoped to gain from his wandering. Sure, he could gather information, but everything he did seemed randomized. To Jesse, perhaps the way he picked up miscellaneous object or stood in certain lights was methodical. Perhaps it made sense. But to everyone else, it seemed like such a redundant waste of time when someone's life was on the line.

After walking around for a bit, McCree made his way to the wall of glass. Gabriel had a feeling that it would be a beautiful sight on a normal day, watching the sunrise bathe the city every morning, but now most of the wall was blanketed with heavy blinds, with only one single stretch being uncovered and completely shattered. It looked as if someone had forced their way through, or maybe they had been thrown out instead.

Regardless, everyone stood clear of the entry, with a few soldiers lingering around the edges; they were guarding it, but whether or not it was to keep people in or to stop someone from coming out was yet to be determined. A few people were even outside, but they were hunkered down behind two metal tables (Gabriel wouldn't be surprised if they were solid silver considering how lavish the rest of the home was). At least three bodies were piled up at the entrance, blood spilling out on the floor, and it was easy to see that they hadn't been moved since their deaths. Four other bodies were scattered around on the balcony outside.

"Are you sure, Gabe?" Jack asked. Reyes rejoined him in watching McCree, who was now kneeling down at the feet of one of the fallen agents. What was he looking for in a dead man? Despite his confusion, Gabriel nodded.

"I'm certain," he said, "But before he goes out there, he's going to need an earpiece-"

"The hidden ones?" Jack interrupted, waving for one of his agents to come over. A technician, it seemed. He pulled out a case of various items and presented them without question.

"Yeah, the hidden ones. You and I, we're going to monitor vitals and do whatever the hell McCree needs us to."

After he and Jack conversed for a moment, Gabriel whistled for Jesse to come over. Quite frankly, without all of his gear and his ridiculous getup, Jesse looked so... vulnerable. He had no armor, no protection. There was no grandiose glory, no blazing reds and golds and other such colors. Just a subtle, faded ghost without valor. Gabriel felt almost _guilty_  sending Jesse out to deal with a crazed kidnapper like this. Perhaps that's what drove him to gently tilt McCree's head into one of his hands, cradling it longer than necessary and more tenderly than he had any right to do in public while positioning the earpiece. The emptiness that Jesse displayed seemed to crack, if only for a moment.

"How does that feel?" Gabriel asked. He moved his hand to McCree's front pants pocket and took his comm to store it (it would be horrendous if it happened to go off during negotiation). Jesse fiddled with his ear for a moment, just checking the piece out for himself, before giving a resolute nod.

"It's all good. Fits just fine," he said, "But what's the plan? What did you and Morrison decide?" Yes, the break in his facade was certainly mended now. It was back to receiving orders.

Jack finally piped up. "You're doing what you would normally do out on the field. Our options are... limited, and Reyes seems to have faith in your skills."

With a soft smile, the Strike Commander approached Jesse and placed a reassuring hand on his right wrist, and with one graceful move, he jerked up the sleeve and pulled McCree's arm straight.

How deceptive, to show kindness while preparing to inflict pain.

Gabe could see just how hard the kid was trying not to jerk away. Jack reached back over to the case that held the technology and pulled out what appeared to be a very small yet dangerous tangle of wires. One strand held a needle at the end, and Jesse froze. Another crack.

"Wanna tell me what you're doing, or what you're gonna do, with Satan's little squid friend there? Because that shit don't look right and I probably ain't gonna buy whatever you try to sell me with this thing."

"It's a monitor of sorts," Gabriel provided, speaking calmly as to not stir up more panic. Jesse could only withstand so many fractures before shattering. "It's going to help us keep an eye on you in real time, so we don't have to guess and pray we didn't mess up. If it makes you feel any better," he paused, moving to stabilize Jesse's arm while Jack positioned the needle, "Doctor Ziegler made it. Anything she makes is top-notch."

Without much warning, the sharp needle slipped almost effortlessly into Jesse's vein. Of course the kid yelped a bit, but the worst part was over; the other wires bunched up neatly, and once they were covered in a square of cottony gauze, it seemed like a regular little bandage. Jack quickly pulled out his comm, typed in a few passwords and some information, and then up popped a shit ton of statistics, charts, and numbers. From where he stood, Gabriel could see McCree's heart rate and a few chemical monitors, along with blood pressure and body temperature (Jesse might be getting a cold, because apparently he had a slight fever).

"This is going to tell us how you're doing, which is especially good since you can't give us updates," Jack stated, "And remember, we're going to be able to communicate at all times, the lines are open. Anything you need, we'll do."

Jesse nodded, and began to steel himself for whatever lay ahead. Gabriel and Jack both walked towards the entrance with him, and at their request, a soldier was ready to exit with McCree. The two commanders settled down tensely near the entry point. From their spot, they had a clear view of the situation outside, and both of them held their breath; standing on the very edge of the roof, illuminated by an alternating sea of red-blue and precariously close to falling, was a dark silhouette and a smaller body, no doubt that of their targets. For the first time since arriving, everything started to suddenly feel too real.

"Jesse?" Gabe said, taking ahold of the end of the kid's coat. With a bit of urgency, he added, "Remember what I said in the elevator. I mean it."

\----

It was chaos as soon as Jesse stepped out on the roof. When he came out into the open, the gun fired automatically; McCree had the sense to predict something like that would happen and practically lunged to the left, hiding behind one of the tables, but the guard that proceeded him wasn't quite so lucky. The aggressor was shooting erratically, only aiming in the general direction of the entry point, but that made Gabriel nervous. An unpredictable bullet was an unpredictable death. His theory held true as brain matter and fragments of skull splattered onto the glass windows behind the guard, whose body fell limply to the ground.

At least Jesse was alive.

From where Gabriel was sitting, he could see McCree's body slumped up against the table, and his hand pressed tightly against his thigh. So he was momentarily safe, but his leg was wounded. The other agents hiding behind the second table seemed to be whispering and frantically motioning to McCree, but he simply waved them off. Gabriel knew that if they moved from their spot, they would be killed as well, and Jesse seemed to be emphasizing that scenario for them. This wound might throw a wrench in the plan.

Jack seemed to have the same thought as him, and began to talk as quietly as his earpiece would allow him. Time to test these things out. "Can you proceed, McCree?" he asked.

Gabriel observed Jesse, who looked up the where he thought his commander would be. The windows were one-way, so while everyone inside could look out, those who were on the roof were completely blind to whatever was happening behind the glass. For a moment, Gabe was fearful that the piece didn't work, but a subtle movement caught his eye; one bloody hand delivered two quick taps against the ground.

The tapping system worked phenomenally well in situations where yes or no answers were required, but the users had to be subtle. Two taps for yes, one tap for no, and apparently Jesse was well enough to continue.

After resting for a moment, McCree attempted to stand back up (a stupid decision), and another round was fired off, hitting the table with a vengeance as he sat back down.

"Stay away! Don't think I won't kill you! Don't think I won't jump!"

The earpiece Jesse wore was able to pick up audio a good distance away apparently, and Gabriel was pleasantly surprised. Still, it was too early to be grateful. Reyes watched as Jesse shuffled closer to the end of the table, not yet moving to get back up again.

"I won't move any closer," he called, loud enough for the kidnapper to hear, "But you need to-"

"You don't know what I need, so just stay the fuck away from me!" the other man called. His hands trembled as he brandished the gun in the air. He took a step back closer to the ledge, and both Jack and Gabriel tensed.

Jesse took a deep, steady breath, grounding himself before he continued. Gabriel could see that his hand was pushing painfully into the meat of his thigh, and Reyes carefully moved Jack's comm screen to where they could both see it. Unsurprisingly, McCree's heart rate was up, as were chemicals that Gabriel recognized as adrenaline and its family. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise; as long as that shit was being pumped through Jesse’s system, he would feel less pain until it diminished. He was still operational.

"I need you to calm down, Andrew."

The other man stilled violently at Jesse's words. Gabriel and Jack didn't even need to look at each other to know they were sharing the same thought; how the fuck did McCree know that? They were both gang members, so did they know each other because of that? Had they had some sort of interaction before Jesse had left for Blackwatch?

"That's your name, ain't it? Andrew?"

Apparently not, if he was having to clarify. Still, McCree was reaching for a personal connection, which seemed to work perfectly. The aggressor, Andrew, had slowly lowered his gun, but neither Gabe nor Jack could tell if it was done consciously or subconsciously.

With a soft wave of his hand, Jesse caught the attention of Reyes.

"I see you," he said. They couldn't lose progress, couldn't seem overly suspicious, and so he spoke swiftly. "Do you need backup or evacuation?"

One tap. Quickly thereafter, McCree held out his left hand, then put two fingers from his right into his open palm, head tilted in question. He was signing (or at least trying to, because Gabriel had yet to teach him much).

' _CAN I STAND UP?_ '

"His gun is down. Proceed with caution."

Jesse didn't rise, but instead shook his head with fervor. One swift motion with his hands, back and forth, and then another, his left arm stretched out and his right hand following along its length, falling off and descending at the end.

' _HOW CLOSE TO THE EDGE?_ '

"They've only taken one step back," Jack said, "Just be careful."

McCree nodded, and turned his focus back to his target.

"I'm going to get up now, Andrew," Jesse called, reassured by both Jack and Gabriel's instructions. "Like I said, I won't step any closer. I'm just gonna stand up."

Everybody watched with anxious, bated breath as McCree carefully pushed himself off of the ground, exposing everything from the waist up.

"Stand where I can see you," the other man called, and Jesse complied. McCree was forcing himself to not favor his leg (dark wet spots had also formed on the back of his jacket, probably from jumping to cover, and Reyes could only pray that Jesse still had _some_ of his stitches in), and his body, while tense as a bowstring, feigned confidence. He could even be perceived as relaxed. His hands were slightly away from his sides, showing he held no weapon in his hands, but Peacekeeper hung blatantly out in the open. As promised, though, he was currently not taking any steps closer.

"Throw your gun away," Andrew commanded. The grip on his own gun and the little girl increased tenfold. "And don't try anything funny, I swear to God I'll jump right here and now. I'll take her with me."

With very, _very_ careful movements, Jesse took Peacekeeper out of her holster (Gabe watched as he subtly clicked on the safety, his trademark bronze-plated bullets standing out against the snow) and once she was placed on the ground, he kicked her gently away from him. It landed smack dab in between the two men. As this went on, Gabriel could tell that McCree was sizing up Andrew, and he himself began to do the same; the man was absolutely wrecked.

He was covered in blood (it was indiscernible as to whether or not it was just his, or if it also came from other gang members), and he was completely banged up from fighting. Glass also extruded from his skin, all along his arms, his neck, and a particularly concerning piece was lodged into his side. The man's body was weeping red at an alarming rate, and it was only a matter of time until he bled out. He would die on this roof.

In certain ways, he wasn't unlike McCree, and something about that made everything regarding this situation feel wrong. Both men were wiry, rounding up to be the same height and seemingly the same age, give or take a few years. Jesse, however, turned out to be just a fraction larger, more muscular, and was well-fed and well-groomed. As the harsh wind and snow whipped around them, their juxtaposed situations seemed to blur into something familiar; someone desperate to live but more than willing to die, and someone else giving the other an ultimatum. A fate that had spared McCree from the suffering that would befall the other man on the roof. Suddenly Reyes wanted nothing more than to save Jesse once again.

But Jesse had another person to save, one who couldn't have the same luxury of being a player. A child was just a pawn, after all.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, far away from McCree and Andrew's level, was the little girl. She seemed relatively unharmed as far as mortal injuries went, but tears poured down her face like waterfalls, and her sobs were silenced by a filthy rag gagging her. Blood (not her own) had stained her pink butterfly shirt, and only a single purple polkadot sock covered one of her feet. Her neatly braided pigtails were coming undone. Jesse seemed to have the same gut-wrenching feeling as Gabe (yet again another crack) and he turned his head to the left just a bit, as if doing so would lessen his pain. Instead of looking right back to his target (which was the _safe_  thing to do, and what he would normally do), McCree stayed that way for just a fraction of a second, _then_ turned to his attention back to where it needed to be. Suddenly, Jack's comm started to chirp rapidly, and it wasn't very hard to see why; Jesse's heart rate had skyrocketed, practically to a level of panic, but why?

The answer had to lie in what he saw when he turned his head, and so Gabriel and Jack both were even more curious (and now moderately concerned) as to what Jesse had seen. Doing the same thing as McCree, they turned their heads to the left and focused; what they saw was one Ana Amari, perched like a hawk, swift and deadly and ready to fly.

She wouldn't shoot, not right now. She knew that if she took a shot, then the hostage and the aggressor both would plummet to their deaths. If Jesse were closer, then it would be a plausible option; he could reach the girl in time and yank her back to safety, but as it were, he was at least twenty feet away, if not more. Currently, she remained as still as a statue, wholly focused on her target. Upon further inspection, though, something seemed off.

"Is she... is she aiming at _McCree_?" Jack asked. Both he and Gabriel squinted to look closer, and sure as the world, her eye was _not_ on the Andrew, but on Jesse instead. It made no logical sense, and the two commanders shared an incredulous look before Reyes passed his comm to Morrison, who tuned into the Overwatch radio frequency.

"Ana, report," Jack commanded, "What the hell are you doing? Because from where we are, it looks like you're zoning in on agent McCree."

A crackle of static, then, "I am."

"What the fuck, Ana?" Gabriel spoke before he could control his mouth, and Jesse's heart continued to beat like a war drum, a grim reminder that he _knew_ the sniper (a person that Gabe knew McCree considered his mother figure) was aiming straight at him.

"I am doing him a _favor_. He's bleeding rapidly, and our target is erratic. If he shoots again, it won't kill Jesse. The medics won’t be able to help without Angela’s technology. He’s only going to suffer. And besides, McCree is also on a timer; either he is going to die or the target will, it's just a matter of who drops first."

"So, what? You're going to put him down like a wounded animal? He's my prized agent, Ana!" Reyes was furious as he spoke, and Jack's face was turning red.

"Find yourself a new dog," Ana said.

Jack was seething as he joined in. "As your commanding officer, I _order_ you not to shoot. Understood?"

The only response was static. Of fucking course she hadn't said anything back. She wouldn't change her plan, and sure as the fucking world, if she decided to take the shot, she wouldn't miss. Jesse seemed to have the same thought. His heart beat was seriously reaching a hysterical level.

Shit. _Shit_.

They had open lines. The kid could hear everything they were saying. Everyone had to give him a massive credit, though; he continued on with his mission, only appearing to slightly tremble (it could easily pass as being cold, not being consumed by fear. Honestly it was probably both of those things). His entire attention went back to his target.

"My name is Jesse, and I'm here to help you, Andrew. I want us to _both_ walk out of here today, alright? But I need you to listen to me, I need you to help me get you out of here."

"If you're hear to help," Andrew challenged, "Then tell those other people to get off the roof. I know they're there, I know they have guns."

With a surprisingly firm voice, McCree commanded the Overwatch soldiers to retreat back into the penthouse; reluctantly and with their hands up, they did as they were told. All the was left was a very defenseless, weakening Jesse and an unhinged man with a hostage.

"There, all gone." McCree took a few steps closer (Jack and Gabe could see now that he was starting to drag his leg). "See? You can trust me, Andrew. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt Charlotte either, and neither do you."

Again, how the fuck did McCree _know_ these people? Regardless, whatever Jesse was aiming for, he seemed to achieve it; Andrew appeared to react in an almost guilty manner, if only for a second.

"She's not the one you're mad at, we both know that. She loves you so much. I know you care for her, too," McCree continued. His face softened perfectly, expression made innocent by his freckles and benevolent smile, and his eyes appeared deceptively doe-like. "It's her dad that you're mad at, the shitty Governor. I can _understand_ how you feel. He's corrupt. You've done so much for him, and you don't deserve to be treated like you have been."

"He was going to kill us, he was going to kill all of us! I know he's the one who planned this." Andrew was becoming visibly upset, but he seemed to step closer to Jesse rather than towards the edge. It prompted Jesse to move forwards slightly, too.

He only got so far before a gun was retrained on him with a trembling hand.

"You're one of them, aren't you? You're working with them! They sent you out here to kill me. They want to _kill me_!" A large step back towards the ledge. Everyone tensed.

Jesse shook his head, and with a very slow, very calculated movement, he started to tug up on his jacket sleeves. What the fuck was he doing?

"No, I'm not here to kill you, because you're right about one thing," he said, tugging until the fabric bunched up at his elbow. "I _do_ work with them, but I sure as hell ain't one of them." Carefully, Jesse took a few more steps forward and then extended his arm, brandishing it like a knife. Revealed by flashing sirens, uncovered for the world to see, was the brand that would plague McCree for the rest of his life; his Deadlock tattoo.

For a few moments, Andrew carefully observed the marking, and the look of revelation and recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. "You're from Deadlock, down in New Mexico. You-" He choked for a minute. The trembling in his hand seemed to increase tenfold. "I remember you! You're fucking _Jesse McCree_."

All was painfully, horribly silent, as if someone had missed a vital line in a script. McCree seemed vaguely impassive, but the monitor beeping in front of Gabriel showed his true fear, his honest feelings about the situation.

Deadlock was not something Jesse ever talked about, at least not his true experiences there. No one knew anything about it other than what was already on file, and that was only the logistics, not actual personal information. For whatever reason, Gabriel felt that McCree wasn't afraid of Andrew recognizing him, but what he might say for the rest of the world to hear.

"You were their sniper, a fucking assassin," Andrew continued, sounding almost reverent and simultaneously scared as shit. "I saw you kill an _entire group_ of people in three seconds flat! You were fucking ruthless when you took down our old boss, too. You didn't even spare those kids of his." McCree had tensed tremendously, almost doubling over, as if he had reacted to a physical blow too late. His head seemed to lower in shame. "What the hell are you doing, Deadlock? Why're you working for a lawman? Why are you even here?"

An... assassin? Of all the ways Gabriel would've described Jesse McCree, an assassin wouldn't have been one of them (assassins didn't wear bright red serapes and jangly spurs), but even that seemed to be like a saint's job in comparison to what Andrew had just accused Jesse of.

He had killed children.

He had willingly and purposefully killed small, innocent children, just because they belonged to whatever head honcho was running this stupid-ass place at the time. In all of his time in Blackwatch, Jesse never seemed to even _consider_ harming one single hair on any kid's head, especially since he absolutely adored Fareeha. The little Amari had even helped McCree control his temper when she was in the vicinity. It seemed like such a far-fetched idea that under normal circumstances, it could be laughed off and become completely, permanently dismissed. But Jesse wasn't laughing. His expression entirely turned back to stone, and it remained that way as he shuffled closer. His leg was practically dead.

One glance at the comm confirmed what both Gabriel and Jack seemed to fear; like Ana said, McCree was dying. His blood pressure was dropping, as was his core body temperature, and even his adrenaline levels were starting to taper out. He would no doubt be feeling the pain now. Still, McCree persisted.

"I'm here because they took me from my home," Jesse said, "They took me from my _family_. I work for them because I have to. It doesn't mean I don't plan on leaving." The aggressor had his gun lowered now, arm completely lax at his side, and even his grip on little Charlotte seemed to lessen just a smidge. McCree was only a few steps away from Andrew, not even five feet now. Slowly, he leaned in, talking as if he were telling a secret. "I planned on running soon. I complete this mission, I earn their trust a little more, and then I get the hell outta Dodge before the sun rises."

Jesse had closed the distance between them now, and his voice, albeit strained, was almost giddy. Gabriel could tell it was fake, or at least he was hoping it was.

Now that Jesse was close enough, a gentle hand found its way to the aggressor's shoulder. "I ain't one of those lawmen, I'm Deadlock. And you? You're just like me, Andrew. Me and you, we're one and the same, so I'll tell you what. Let me take you with me, let me take you to where you belong."

Jesse smiled.

It all seemed to happen so unpredictably fast; without hesitation, McCree reached down and practically ripped the young girl from Andrew's arms, throwing her a good few feet behind him.

"Reyes!" he called, and Gabriel knew what he had been asked to do. As fast as his feet would allow him to go, he bolted onto the roof and grabbed the little girl off the ground, taking her into his arms without hesitation.

At the same time, whether from blood loss or utter betrayal, Andrew seemed too stunned to react. It would be his downfall, and quite literally. Once again acting with a dogged determination, Jesse reared up with his good leg and delivered a devastating kick to Andrew's chest without mercy, sending him straight over the ledge. What nobody accounted for, though, was the falling man reaching out, searching desperately for one last lifeline, one last chance at survival; he grabbed McCree's leg, and both began to tumble to their demise.

Despite his entire body being weakened from injury, it seemed like a miraculous blessing had been given to McCree as his body twisted forwards and his arms shot out to catch him. The cry of agony he let out confirmed one more grim truth; his remaining stitches had broken apart and his back was slowly tearing open. It was unlike anything Gabriel had ever heard.

Although Reyes took the little girl and ran, Jack shot out through the entrance and raced towards the desperate agent. He reached him just in time. Jesse was about to fall off the ledge, even as he smashed his foot into Andrew's face and sent him falling to his death. With a quick jerk, McCree was back on solid ground. He was held painfully tight in Morrison's arms, but as the Strike Commander rose to carry him back to safety, Jesse couldn't help but peer down to where Andrew had fallen.

Gabriel really wished Jesse wouldn’t. From what he could imagine, it was no doubt a gruesome scene; Andrew’s body would be completely shattered. His skull had probably busted open like a cantaloupe, sending blood and brain matter in every direction, and his limbs would be set in painfully awkward positions, the bones sticking out every which way. If Gabriel thought long enough, he could convince himself that the ribs possibly protruding out of the corpse's torso (no doubt that’s what Jesse was seeing) were just tricks of the flashing lights. Suddenly Jesse looked like he might faint, and Gabriel was certain it wasn't from blood loss.

"Hang tight, Jesse," Jack murmured. Once inside, he called desperately for one of the medics and settled McCree down onto the floor. Instead of just one medic, three began to surround him. Jesse's pants, jacket, and shirt were pulled off (nobody was phased by nudity anymore, but Jack was still generous enough to remove his coat and drape it across Jesse's lap, allowing the end of it to cover his boxers while the rest bunched up at his stomach. It would help him warm up, too), and one medic began to apply pressure to the gunshot wound. Its path had gone straight through the meat of McCree's thigh and right back out. That meant that thankfully, there was no need to dig for a bullet, just to disinfect it and stitch it close.

The other two had started working on different parts of him. McCree's back was a top priority to prevent blood loss and eventual death, but as they tried to stitch the skin back, they were nowhere near as precise as Angela; the movements were harsh and jagged instead.

The last medic began to take care of Jesse's arms. While trying to prevent falling off the roof, McCree had scraped the shit out of his forearms, but that was decidedly the least of his worries. Thankfully, despite the conglomeration of nasty wounds, the three medics worked together like a well-oiled machine.

Charlotte was also being taken care of, but she refused to let go of Gabriel. Not that she really needed to be checked out anyways. Her gag had been removed, and now she was sobbing so pitifully that Gabriel couldn't help but rock her back and forth, whispering soothing phrases while he settled down onto the ground. Thankfully, she didn't have many injuries except from where Jesse had thrown her.

"Would you look at that?" McCree said. He was starting to sounding delirious. "I think the kid likes you, boss." He shut up as soon as the needle and thread pierced a particularly painful and raw spot on his back, and he jerked as if preparing to ward off his perceived attackers. To prevent this, one of the three medics forcefully held him still (with a little extra help from Jack, just for safety measures) while the other worked away on his arms. Gabriel could see that his forearms were still bleeding, and it looked absolutely awful. They were basically torn to shreds in some places. The way he had been scraped really didn't help the monitor in Jesse's vein, either; it had been almost completely ripped out, but the needle had bent and formed a hook, which required some careful attention to get out of his skin.

Around twenty minutes later, McCree was all gauzed up and emergency evac was on its way.

Truth be told, he was a pitiful sight; Jack's long coat was draped over his shoulders now, bandages wrapped around his torso, his skin pale, body drenched in sweat and melted snow. Someone had managed to get Jesse into a pair of loose pants (they looked like scrub bottoms from the medical staff), but they seemed to do little in keeping him warm. Jack was sitting closely by his side. Although not touching, Gabriel knew he was close enough to provide some SEP-generated body heat. Jesse had always joked about how Gabriel's SEP serum made him so warm that it reminded him of home ("It's a good thing," he had said, snuggling up as close as he could to Reyes, "I miss the desert heat."). Despite that, though, McCree seemed somewhat unresponsive; he was propped up on a few of the equipment bags, sipping on the water that the medics had given him, and proceeded to stare off into space. Expressionless, emotionless.

The little girl was more responsive now. She was still curled desperately close to Gabriel, sitting quietly on his lap, but she seemed to observe McCree with intense interest. Reyes did, too, but most likely for a different reason. Again, in the four years Jesse had served, he had hardly ever talked about his Deadlock days. The only exception was few drunken stories involving McCree doing stupid shit and hilarious dares, and even then, that required a _lot_ of alcohol. This, though? The whole sniper assassin thing? It seemed so...

Well, truthfully, Reyes didn't even know how to describe it. It was shocking, to say the least. He had murdered _children_ , for fuck's sake, and to think that maybe he was capable of doing it again-

Without a warning, Charlotte darted out from Gabriel's arms and practically pounced on McCree. To Jesse's credit, he hardly moved as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, but whether it was the blood loss making him slow or actual self-control was yet to be determined. Gabe could hear a whole slew of reverent thanks and quiet sobbing from the girl. For a moment, Jesse seemed to remain completely stunned, but after a few seconds, his cotton-covered arms wrapped lightly around the child; without warning, he started to cry. Although his bum leg hadn't moved from its stretched-out position, the other leg curled up tightly, and the rest of his body seemed to fold inwards, enveloping the girl in a desperate embrace. His simply tears had turned into painful, ugly sobs, but Charlotte didn't seem to mind all. Instead, she buried her head into his chest and cried with him.

Why was it, then, that the only thing Gabriel could picture was Jesse pressing the cold steel of his gun against a child's head, remorselessly pulling the trigger?


	2. Don't Close Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Jesse finally return home, but the repercussions of the mission are deadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is ready to roll! I'm actually kinda proud of myself for this story?
> 
> *** REALLY IMPORTANT ***
> 
> THIS IS THE CHAPTER THAT HAS EXPLICIT TALK OF SUICIDE. 
> 
> If that bothers you, please don't read this! I don't want anyone to get hurt!

God bless Angela and her miraculous crew, for they had managed to convince McCree that he needed some time off and a little bed rest. It wasn't as difficult as it normally was, though. In fact, Jesse had simply shrugged and filled out his paperwork, allowing nurse Hudson to wheel him back to his own quarters.

That had been a week ago, and even Jack had apparently started to worry about the kid.

McCree hadn't been spotted since day three. He didn't leave his room, didn't get food, and unless he had somehow managed to sneak past all the other agents (which seemed unlikely), he had been starving himself, an alarmingly frequent occurrence. Angela said it was a nasty habit Jesse had picked up as a kid. She'd explained to them that it was Jesse's way of being able to run or hide for longer periods of time, that if he could hold out when under stress, he would have a greater chance of not getting a shit ton of lead fired off into his pelt.

Gabriel couldn't blame Jesse for his stress response, but he himself felt almost suffocatingly guilty at not realizing that McCree was hiding away to begin with. Hell, it was _Jack_ who had brought it up, and when he asked the other Blackwatch agents, they'd all said the same thing: no, they hadn't seen Jesse, no matter where in the building they were.

Even still, for a good two weeks, Gabriel managed to find many ways to put off checking on McCree for reasons he refused to admit. Reyes wasn't a saint, not by anyone's standards, but how on earth could he look Jesse in the face when he'd learned just what the other had done for Deadlock? And hell, he knew that what Andrew had revealed was only the beginning. What other monstrosities had been committed? Who else's blood stained Jesse's hands?

Gabriel vaguely understood that it wasn't really McCree's fault, that he had simply been following orders, that it was a kill or be killed situation (and how many times had Reyes himself been in that kind of position?). But still, purposefully killing children? Andrew had said Jesse had been ruthless, that he had no emotion, no sympathy. Had he tortured them, before they died? Did he murder their parents before their very own eyes?

That led up to yet another concerning matter; had McCree really planned on leaving? Had he just been biding his time, feigning his love, his loyalty? For the four years he served, with the exception of the first year, Jesse had seemingly enjoyed his time in Blackwatch. He made friends with everyone, he passionately celebrated every event (around Christmas time, it had become a hilarious tradition for him and Reinhardt to try and out-drink each other), and he was notorious for helping anyone who came to him, whether it was three in the morning or one in the afternoon.

It was hard to sort out what was real and what was not, but regardless of the many antithetical conclusions Gabriel had reached, he certainly agreed to one thing; he would avoid McCree until he felt at least somewhat normal again.

But apparently normality would have to wait, because when Athena had alerted him of an escalating altercation late one night, he knew exactly who had caused it.

\----

When he arrived at the hallway just outside of the shooting range, Jack's voice was the first thing that he heard, and he didn't have his normal Strike Commander tone. No, this was soothing, like the one he used to calm crying children, or to gently coax someone into a confession. Or... perhaps not.

On closer inspection, it sounded more similar to a long-forgotten, benevolent timbre that now made Reyes's skin crawl; it was the one Jack had always used when he and Gabriel had been together. It was so soft, so tender. It spoke of gentle touches and a warm, devoted love that could withstand even the harshest of days and darkest of nights. How long had it been since he'd heard that voice? That alone was enough to make him want to bolt.

Next came Ana. Her voice was like cold steel, an unforgiving knife in the dead of winter. It was such a painful contrast to her normal tone, the one that felt like warm desert sand and the refreshing waters of an oasis, the one that soothed people with a cup honeyed tea when they'd had a bad day. Now all traces of that were gone. Instead, it had become like the frigid Egyptian nights, delivered with the kiss of a cold metal bullet.

Lastly came Jesse. He sounded so... so tired. Yet anger overcame the weariness, as did every single ounce of his pain. His voice was devoid of its usual brilliant passions, his hypnotic drawl, his love and absolute fire for life. His benevolence was gone, and the venomous husk that had been left behind dissipated into the air, filling everyone's lungs with bile. It seemed as though nothing good remain. With every strangled yell, his voice pierced the silence like shards of glass in bleeding fingers, like nails that went straight through the flesh.

Bitterness, hatred, _rage._ Isn’t that what Gabriel had taught him?

When Reyes pushed through the doors to the range, he wasn't even noticed due to the chaos, but he _did_ notice everyone else. Just as he thought, Jack, Jesse, and Ana were the active participants in this altercation, and shockingly enough, young Doctor Ziegler was there as well, watching quietly from the sidelines. Morrison also seemed to take a similar role as Angela, as he only seemed to attempt to keep the peace. He wasn't an aggressor. Jesse and Ana, on the other hand, were squared up like angry bulls, taking jabs at each other, Ana remaining as cool as ice and McCree snarling like a rabid dog.

Reyes noted with a stab of guilt that McCree looked worse than he had predicted. Jesse was belligerent, not unlike the first few months after he'd been taken in, and his pale skin only gave emphasis to the darkening circles under his eyes. He looked ill, broken, and it was as if they had started all over again.

"We wouldn't even be here if you could control yourself," Ana chided. Her voice was as aloof as her attitude. That was very unlike herself. "You have to learn your priorities."

That _really_ seemed to set Jesse off. Thank God for Jack, who simply held McCree back by his shoulders. "Oh, fuck you and your priorities!" he cried, his hand reaching back for one of Jack's arms. It didn't seem like he was planning on showing any aggression towards Morrison; on the contrary, he seemed to do it more for support, both physical and emotional. He would certainly need emotional support if he was screaming profanities at _Ana_ of all people. He always spoke so highly of her, held her in the highest regard. Hell, Jesse had even confided in Reyes that he viewed Ana as a mother.

"Please calm down, Jesse. Everything is going to be just fine." It seemed like it was Jack's turn to speak now. "I'm sure that whatever Ana said to you wasn't meant to be hurtful." He turned to Ana, his glacial gaze piercing right through her. A warning. "Right, Ana?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes closed as if she couldn't stand to look at the men in front of her. "I don't have to explain myself, least of all to a subordinate like McCree. Good day to you both."

When Ana approached the door, she startled upon seeing Reyes hidden in the shadows of the room. Like Jack, his eyes were relentlessly piercing, searching for the reason that would cause Ana to neglect and even bully Jesse, yet he couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite as he did so. Hadn't he done the same for almost three weeks?

But Ana was not a hypocrite, and she was different than he was. Reyes's anger stemmed from pain and the need to retaliate, as if his violence could save him from whatever cruel trick Fate would play on him next. Ana, though? She knew pain and retaliation well, most certainly, but her anger only showed with guilt, regret, and fear. When Gabriel looked into her eyes, seeing the turbulence that hardly ever came to a head, he knew then why she was lashing out.

She nearly had to kill Jesse.

Jesse, her only son, the boy she had scraped up off the concrete floor and brought into her home with all the love and affection she could offer. This was the boy that she raised alongside her own daughter. She couldn't have loved him any more if she had birthed him herself, but in that moment, perched upon a roof and forced to balance the scales, she could've lost everything. All it would've taken was one single bullet.

Something else seemed to bother her, though. Something else was plaguing her. Ana's normally steady hands appeared to have a weak tremble in them, if only periodically, and her skin seemed paler than before. Whatever it was that had startled her, Reyes wouldn't get to know. She left without a word, and Gabriel turned his focus back onto the other three people in the room, attempting not to linger on his thoughts any longer. Angela still remained off to the side, but Jack was attentive.

With all of the kindness he could muster, Morrison gently turned Jesse to face him with a sympathetic hand.

"She's not really angry, Jess," he heard Jack say. "She's just... upset with herself for a whole lot of reasons. It's not against you, but everything is okay now, it's over. You're safe."

"It's over. I'm safe," McCree muttered back. He honestly didn't even seem to comprehend what came out of his mouth; Jesse was impassive, eyes seemingly distant, even a bit vacant.

Anger, and then nothingness.

Gabriel felt an odd sort of desperation well up inside of him because of that.

As if deciding that was her cue, Angela stepped forward, her heels clicking against the concrete floor as she did so. Her slender brows were furrowed as she placed one of her seemingly frail hands on the small of Jesse's back, pushing him away from Jack and towards the door. Morrison allowed it. When she led Jesse closer to the exit, Gabriel panicked a bit. Instead of being even slightly courageous, he chose to hide further into the shadows, thankful for the darkness that the front room of shooting range offered. He waited until the two were gone before he allowed himself to feel relieved.

"I know you're there, Reyes."

Shit.

With hesitant steps, Gabriel made himself known, and slowly began to approach Jack. The man had turned away. Morrison's back was facing towards Reyes as he observed the emptiness of the shooting range, eyes finding his pulse rifle and Ana's shining prized gun in the unlocked safe. There were no boxes of bullets to be found (Ana always fussed about how they never stored the guns and ammo in the same location, that it was so stupid the ammunition was so far away), but that wasn’t really Jack’s focus. He was staring at Jesse's abandoned gun on the floor. It was just waiting to be used. He walked over to pocket it, opening the cylinder with one swift motion and taking out two perfect silver bullets, not unlike the ones found in Overwatch's standard issue pistols. Only then did he turn to walk towards Gabriel; as he approached, his face twisted with anger and he delivered a punishing blow to Reyes's head.

"Hey! What the shit?" Gabriel hissed, ducking his head to prevent another hit. "What the fuck did I do to you?"

"It's not what you did to _me_ , it's what you did to _Jesse_. And don't even pretend you don't know _exactly_  what I'm talking about. Stupidity doesn't look good on you."

Standing at his full height, body rigid and prepared to fight (to _kill_ )Gabriel could suddenly picture Jack as many enemies had before; the unforgiving angel of merciless, inescapable death. He was undoubtedly enraged, and for a good reason. In his selfishness, his fear, Reyes had been refusing to think of Jesse's wellbeing, only hiding away in hopes that the situation would fix itself. Obviously it didn't.

"I didn't know he would be like that," Gabriel said pathetically. "I didn't know he-"

"Maybe if you, I don't know, _checked on him_ , you wouldn't have that problem." Jack turned away from Gabriel. With careful steps, as if trying to deter his anger, he began to pace. "That poor kid has been a fucking wreck and the one person that he prayed would help him wouldn't even give him the time of day. You're playing a really shitty game here, Reyes."

For a moment, Gabriel felt his own indignant anger flare inside of him, and he straightened up, arms crossing over his chest. "He's a soldier, not a child. He doesn't need us to babysit him. And besides, why does he matter so much to you all of a sudden? From what it sounds like, you're-"

"I swear to God if you finish that sentence in 'sleeping with him', I might actually have to hurt you."

With one look at Reyes's stunned (and rather guilty) expression, Jack let out a noise that sounded almost hysterical. His eyes were wide, face twisted mockingly, incredulously, as he moved to stand right in front of Gabriel.

"Jesse has been debilitated for three fucking weeks and you're worried that I might be _sleeping with him_? Just-" Morrison stepped away, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. As if that could wrangle in his wrath. Without so much as a warning, he began to walk towards the entrance of the shooting range, his hostility rolling off of him in suffocating waves.

"Just go talk to him, for fuck's sake." As he reached the door, he added, "And for the record, no, I'm not sleeping with him."

The door slammed, and Reyes was left to hide in the darkness.

\----

Needless to say that when Gabriel had shown up in the medical wing, asking to see McCree, Angela was completely willing to tear him to shreds (she practically cornered him, saying she would _give_ Reyes a reason to be in her ward, and he had no doubts that she would if provoked. The self-defense gun she kept on her hip promised that).

"And besides," she said, jabbing one of her perfectly rounded nails into his chest, "Why do you think I would even allow you to enter his room? It would only add to his psychology distress, something he certainly doesn't need any more of."

"I'll only be there for a second, and if it makes you feel any better, you can be in the room with me if you want."

Reyes knew Angela had no reservations when it came to throwing people out of her hospital. He had witnessed many instances where agents (all of whom were either trying to visit past hours or foolishly steal drugs for self-medication) were removed by force, sometimes being literally thrown through the white revolving doors at the entrance. The smart ones didn't try it again, and the stupid ones ended up _needing_ some medical attention afterwards. Whoever came through those doors, it was up to Angela if they stayed or not. She held those delicate scales in her hands, and as she observed Gabriel with a sharp gaze, judging his intentions, he couldn't help but feel as if his own fate were hanging by a thread.

"Can I ask why he's here in the first place?" he asked, hoping the question would prove his authenticity. "None of his wounds seemed that dire after you patched him up."

One of Angela's neatly groomed eyebrows rose up in question. Her lips were pulled from a frown into a tightly drawn line. Neutral was better than negativity, right?

"I'm surprised the Strike Commander didn't tell you," she said. "Jesse is here because he hasn't been sleeping at all, and whatever mental and emotional trauma he experienced over the last mission has been... worrying, to say the least."

"How long have you kept him under observation?" Gabriel asked. "That's out of character for McCree, he never admits himself. Sure, he has a hard time sleeping, but normally he just takes the medicine you give him and he's fine."

Angela seemed to scowl at him for a moment, but quickly gained her composure after one deep breath. Still, her eyes felt like knives in his skin.

"For someone so well-versed in sleeping problems, you seem ignorant to the knowledge that medicine cannot fix everything," she said. "Whatever I give Jesse and the other agents, it's not a permanent solution. It's merely there to help them get through the night. When day comes and the medicine is gone, they have no guard, no protection from whatever may be afflicting them. I thought you of all people would understand that, Gabriel."

Reyes suddenly felt stupid. He knew exactly what Angela was talking about now; how many nights had his own mind plagued him with the unforgettable images burned into his brain? How many times had he seen the mangled remains of his agents, seen their faces haunting his nightmares, poisoning his dreams? The nights had become unbearable, and daylight always seemed so far away. That was one of the reasons he and Jesse had started sleeping together in the first place. They had managed to find each other stumbling numbly around their base's kitchen, looking for something to soothe them over while they recovered from the darkness. One conversation led to another, and at 2:43 that morning, they had both managed to come to an agreement; no more desperately hoping that daylight would come sooner, no more fighting the nightmares alone.

How fucking stupid could he be, to not see any of this sooner?

Well, he _had_ seen it, he just ignored it. Reyes knew that Jesse had been sleeping worse since coming home from two other missions (one of which left his back torn open, struggling to stand, to move, to _breathe_ ) and now he had a third one to deal with. This time, though, he was doing it alone.

With sharp clarity, a wave of nauseating dread ran straight through Gabriel, and he suddenly felt as if he knew just _why_ Ana had looked the way she did, so startled and pale. He now also realized why Jack had used his kindest, softest voice with Jesse, and then later tried to literally beat sense into Reyes.

He could only pray that his thoughts were wrong.

As if judging Reyes's heart, weighing his guilt in one hand and his transgressions in the other, Angela finally let out a defeated sigh. She wearily motioning for Gabriel to sign in.

"He's in Room 133," she said, moving to sit down behind the front desk. With all the casualness in the world, she added, "And if I find out anything... _unsatisfactory_ has occurred, don't think there won't be consequences."

That alone was enough to make Gabriel walk as swiftly as possible down the hall. None of her threats were ever empty.

\----

After navigating the twisting corridors of the hospital, Reyes finally found himself at the door of Jesse's hospital room, but instead of going in straight away, instead of quickly ripping off that bandage, he chose to stand off to the side.

What would he even say to Jesse?

In all honesty, if McCree were to scream every profane word and phrase he had ever known, were to hit and bite and claw to seek his vengeance, then Gabriel would let him. He deserved it. For three weeks, Jesse had been alone (something neither he nor Reyes were used to anymore), fighting off whatever demons that were desperately trying smother him under their weight. He had been left half-dead and bleeding, and from what Jack had told him, McCree had been waiting for him to come to his aid like always.

Except Gabriel didn't.

Knowing that he would tap out if he dwelled too long on his thoughts, Reyes gently knocked on the door and waited. A soft 'come in' answered him, and with a little trepidation, he entered the room.

Jesse was not laying in his bed, but instead sat on the edge, face in his hands and practically folded in half. The only illumination came from a soft bedside lamp; the overhead lights were turned off, and while the blinds were open, there was hardly any moonlight trickling through. As Gabriel closed the door, the world was darkened even more as the brightness from the hallway was shut out. He could see that Jesse's clothes from the mission were folded neatly and sat on the table by the bed (blood still stained the fabric, and Reyes could only wonder why they hadn't been tossed out), and a few sets of scrubs sat off to the side. No doubt Angela had stolen some from one of the male nurses. Was McCree now wearing them, or was it still regular clothing? In the darkness, he supposed it hardly mattered. Jesse was still unmoving, and for a few tense moments, all the world was hushed, as if it were asleep. He realized a little too late that it was holding its breath instead.

"I honestly didn't think you'd show up. Not at this point. Not now."

Gabriel wouldn't admit it, but he nearly jumped out of his skin when the silence was broken. Jesse sounded so... hollow. It was as if he had been drained of all life, now becoming an empty shell.

"Truth be told," he continued, looking up slowly from his hands, "I'd honestly hoped you wouldn't find out that Jack put me here. I wanted to get better and leave like nothing happened."

"So you didn't admit yourself?" Reyes asked. After a second, he cringed at himself. Way to be insensitive as fuck, Gabe.

Jesse only gave him a short, meaningless laugh. From where he was sitting, despite the lack of proper lighting, Gabriel could suddenly see just how affected McCree was; any joy he held, any happiness or pleasure, was suffocated beneath a dark and crippling weight. Every action seemed hollow. Reyes took notice of how Jesse held himself, arms now wrapping tightly around his stomach as if that were all that was holding him together now. A flash of plastic and tape against the lamplight hinted at a cannula in his arm.

"No, I didn't admit myself. I ain't never done it before, so why would I start now?" McCree said. His eyes leveled with Gabriel, exhausted, weary. "And I'm gonna assume you came to talk or some shit. Take a seat."

Gabriel did as he was told, and pulled up the chair meant for guests to sit in front of McCree. Truthfully, he didn't know where to start, so he just began with something simple, something more neutral.

"Why did Jack admit you?" he asked. "You were in your regular quarters for a few days after you got stitched up."

"I was," Jesse said. His voice was raspy, as if having been dehydrated for a while. The lack of drinking would certainly explain the need for an IV. "I was there for three days, and I stayed awake the whole time. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and started roaming around that night. Jack just happened to find me."

"And then he put you here," Gabriel said. That kind of situation made sense. After all, he and McCree had both just happened to stumble upon each other that one night. He supposed it could've happened again, given the chance.

But that didn't feel like the complete answer. Something else felt wrong, something else felt out of place or completely missing, because truthfully Jack wouldn't just throw McCree in here for a lack of sleep. Even if he had, why would Angela keep him for so long? Why would she so strongly emphasize Jesse's mental and emotional struggles? Gabriel was left with one explanation, one that he knew could possibly shut down this entire conversation if not approached correctly, and he was desperately hoping he was reading this entire situation wrong. Still, he had to ask. He needed to know the truth.

"What were you doing in the shooting range today, Jesse?" he asked, each word slow and somber.

"Target practice," McCree said casually.

"With two bullets and an empty room?"

The question hung above both of their heads now, casting a shadow like a swinging noose, and Jesse was helpless against the facts; how many other things could he possibly be doing in a situation like that? McCree started to tremble. Suddenly, Gabriel was worried that he had been too callous. If Jesse panicked, he would shut down, and they would get nowhere (Reyes now understood why Angela almost hadn't allowed him entry for the sake of psychological stress). Almost abruptly, Gabriel could hear a sharp intake of breath, and then a release. McCree was trying to calm himself. Another breath, then release. In, out, in, out, like the jagged rhythm of tides in an ever-tempestuous sea.

"What do you want me to say?" Jesse's voice was ragged, strangled. It was drenched in fear and absolute dread, and if McCree wouldn't break his face, Reyes would be there for him in a heartbeat. But he supposed that he had no right to even think about that now, not after what he'd done.

"I just-"

Gabriel paused. What _did_ he want Jesse to say?

"Just tell me what happened, Jesse, and why you did it."

The response to his command was almost automatic, and it came in the form of a laugh. This one was derisive. Hysterical.

"You wanna know what happened?" McCree asked. His voice, despite being strained, began to rise. "Really?"

Gabriel nodded, and against his better judgment, he said, "Something tells me this isn't the first time you've tried that since we came home."

The wrathful spell of hysteria slowly faded as the minutes ticked by, and after awhile,  Jesse became dispassionate. His features smoothed out, his eyes dropping to watch his hands clench the fabric of his pants, as if trying to pull back on the reins of whatever he might say. On whatever he might _do_. When he finally looked back up to Gabriel (and he didn't even completely raise his head. McCree's eyes kept flickering between the floor, his own knees, and Reyes's stomach), traces of anger, of desperation, silently trickled into his speech.

"I wasn't wandering the halls when Jack found me, not exactly. I left my room to go outside, but I swear I didn't go out there planning on doing anything. I felt lost. I just wanted to have a little peace, have some room to think." Jesse paused. His right hand started twitching. Trigger happy. "I had Peacekeeper with me, because I always have her no matter what, but Jack found me out in the courtyard with her and he just... he freaked out."

"So he took your gun and its bullets, put it in the safe at the shooting range, and then took you to see Angela," Gabriel said. Jesse nodded.

"And I stayed here with her while Morrison came to check on me. He usually came at the same time every day, more or less, and Angela came in right after he did to check in for the night, always at eight o'clock sharp. Did you know that all the nurses have really tight shifts?" Again, Jesse paused. If he had noticed his fingers twitching, he did nothing to stop them. "It's not that I don't appreciate them, but I just got all antsy from being cramped up in here everyday. So I went to the shooting range. It's a good way to blow off stress, you know?"

Gabriel did know. He'd spent so many restless nights in the shooting range that he had stashed a pack of cigarettes and an extra lighter under one of the bins by the door. He knew Jesse had figured out they were there, too (because of course he had, the clever little bastard). It took him many, many months to realize it, but eventually Reyes noticed that he would occasionally be missing cigarettes. Jesse normally took just one, but he never went above two, knowing that three or more stolen cigarettes would be noticeable. It was _just_ enough to overlook, just enough to make it seem like maybe you'd only thought you had more, or that perhaps you had lost one, but Gabriel knew.

Deadlock had taught Jesse to be sharp, be clever, be resourceful. Whether it be breaking into cash boxes or slipping someone's wallet out from their pocket, he had to know who he was stealing from and when he could be opportunistic. If he just ran in at random, without enough observation, it would almost guarantee a slow, brutal death by the hands of his enemies. Hell, McCree's own bullets would be lodged between his eyes if he didn't time his crimes _just_ right.

Wait.

"You-," Reyes choked on his words, unsure of how to proceed. Slowly, he began to remember the scene he had walked in on back at the ranged, and what all he'd just been told. His eyes widened as he looked at McCree.

"You memorized their schedules, their shifts. You _knew_ when the nurses would be gone, didn't you?" Jesse remained silent, but the look he gave was proof enough that Reyes was on the right track. "You waited until they thought you were healthy, then you left when you knew nobody would be around to see you."

As Gabriel continued to speak, his mind went back to what he had noticed Jack do back at the range. "Jack locked your gun away, but you can pick locks. You broke in and took it back. But-"

He suddenly hit a roadblock. Just like Ana had always jokingly complained about, they couldn't keep ammo and weapons in the same room because of some safety protocol, and the storeroom was on the other side of the base. It left no time for Jesse to run all the way there and then back to the shooting range without getting caught. Gabriel also knew that Jack had no doubt taken the bullets from Peacekeeper, which McCree had confirmed earlier. So how, then, did Jesse get the bullets? They weren’t his trademark copper, they were silver. They were also standard issue for pistols, and neither Jack nor Ana carried those around base. Someone else did, though. Someone that Jesse had easy access to.

"How did you steal Doctor Ziegler's bullets?" he asked. "Actually, why did you steal _two_ of them? That's more noticeable. Or did you not care at that point? You knew you'd be done before they found you."

Jesse simply shrugged.

"They would've found me eventually, dead or alive. I wasn't in too much of a hurry, anyways, and all of Blackwatch knows I like to gamble, so I just played Russian roulette for a bit."

"With two bullets and a time crunch?" Gabriel emphasized.

"Double jeopardy, and besides, we both know I'm lucky, we both know they never would've caught me beforehand. I just decided to give them a little extra time to make up for that. Give them a fair chance.”

If this were a casual conversation, Gabriel would've rolled his eyes. McCree always did manage to beat the odds, but this had nothing to do with luck. This was calculated.

"I guess you get to count your blessing now, because you got _real_ damn lucky when Ana came to shoot and found you instead." A shot in the dark, but Gabriel noticed Jesse seemed to look away, and knew he had hit the nail on the head.

"She realized what you were doing and called Jack. He had probably just seen that you had gone missing since he and Angela came together," Reyes said. "You got found out, and now we're here."

"And now we're here," Jesse repeated tiredly, "Talking in circles around the real reason you came. I'm not stupid, you know."

Oh, Gabriel knew that alright, now more than ever. McCree was a fucking clever bastard if there ever was one, and it was no wonder he was Gabriel's top agent, his second in command. If he could stay ahead of Jack, Ana, Angela, _and_  Gabriel himself (along with the entire nursing crew), then he was too smart for his own good. But why did he choose to show his full potential now?

Jesse had always been as sharp as a tack, and his strategic abilities had basically helped Gabe write a whole new chapter in Blackwatch's playbook. Jack has always said that it was no wonder Deadlock had started to become a threat, why they suddenly had a spike in territorial expansion and had more successful trades. Jesse had finally been old enough to be listened to, and oh boy, did Deadlock listen. Once McCree had been taken, though, once he became loyal to Blackwatch, those skills belonged to Reyes.

Gabriel realized now that despite being four years in, Jesse had been keeping the full extent of his abilities to himself. He was dangerous, and Reyes suddenly felt as if he had underestimated Jesse all of this time (which was probably intentional). That didn't stop the kid from being human, though. That didn't stop him from feeling pain.

"You didn't come to hear about my lack of self-preservation," McCree continued. "You came here because of the mission. Something is bothering you, or else you would've been here before now."

He wasn't wrong, of course, and for the thousandth time that night, Gabriel felt an all-consuming guilt at asking all of the wrong questions and getting to all of the wrong conclusions. Well, perhaps he had gotten _one_  thing right; he realized that McCree had danced around one of his original questions, and if Jesse did that, then he was hiding something.

"Why did you do it, Jesse? Why did you try to take your own life?"

Suddenly, it was like a light switch. Once the question sunk in, McCree didn't appear impassive anymore. He acted the exact same way when Gabriel had brought up the question to begin with; he was _angry_.

"You think I'm gonna sleep soundly after everything that happened in Los Angeles? Really?" Jesse sat up straight now, hoisting his legs up and crossing them under himself. "I hate to tell you, but trying to rescue a little girl from a desperate man is a little stressful. Almost getting dragged off a thirteen story building while Ana is aiming at you doesn't help, either."

Gabriel knew now just what, exactly, Jesse was hiding; vulnerability. Just like his commander, McCree used his anger to hide any weakness he had, at least when he felt overwhelmed by his emotions or that it was unsafe to let them out. As such, Gabriel simply allowed McCree to be bitter. Snark and sass were admittedly cathartic for Jesse, they always had been and probably always would be, and so Gabriel let himself believe it wasn't personal. Maybe he could help channel McCree's fear and anger by switching between topics.

"Speaking of the little girl, Charlotte, I think. How did you know her name? And how did you know the kidnapper's name as well?"

Moving from his spot for the first time, Jesse rose slowly from the bed, but took his time. His movements were stiff, as if his entire body had been stuck in the same position for a long time. Perhaps it had been; Jesse hadn't really moved much since Gabriel had arrived. Thankfully, McCree didn't go far. He only snatched his bloody jacket and hobbled back to his bed (it suddenly occurred to Reyes that the wounded leg might take a long time to heal, and that maybe Jesse would need some help. Not that he'd ever admit it, the stubborn bastard). After sitting back down, McCree dug around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded square of paper, then handed it to Gabriel. As he unfolded it, Reyes realized that while it was vaguely bloodstained, it did nothing to the image on the inside.

On the front of the paper was a child's drawing, the two people depicted most likely being Charlotte and Andrew. Their stick figure-esque bodies were holding hands, and little butterfly stickers dotted the page. Above the figures' heads were their owners' signatures. Charlotte's was signed with a lavender crayon, writing shaky but beginning to form swirling, graceful letters. Similarly, Andrew's was signed with the same crayon, his handwriting appearing rather elegant. A little note to the side, made by the girl, said 'best friends!', and was surrounded by more cutesy stickers. At the bottom, Andrew had put the date and a small smiley face.

Gabriel suddenly felt nauseous.

"This is what you picked up from the table," he realized. "I just thought your hand was cold, and that's why you had it shoved in your pocket."

Jesse shook his head. His eyes lingered momentarily on the drawing, then looked anywhere else but there. Though Reyes was feeling a bit of an emotional shock (how could he not?), he began to think back on some of McCree's other seemingly random behaviors. When he found one, he continued.

"Why did you try to stand up after getting shot in the leg? You knew he had a gun."

"Yeah, I knew," Jesse said, picking at a thread on his jacket. His body no longer seemed tense, but had become somewhat loose. Relaxed. "But I also knew what kind it was. It was a pistol I'd seen before, the ones that the Overwatch guys carry. The soldiers looked like they were taken by surprise. It was most likely unused before being stolen, and if that was the case, it only had ten shots. There were already seven bodies around the place; three on the inside, four on the outside."

Seriously, how had Gabriel not noticed McCree's true mental prowess before tonight? They _slept_ together, for fuck's sake, and they worked side by side nearly ever day. Now all of Jesse's behaviors (the ones that everyone, including Reyes, thought to be randomized and a waste of time) were beginning to make much more sense, just like McCree memorizing the nurses' shifts. It really _was_ methodical, in a strange sort of way. Truthfully, if Gabriel had learned anything tonight, it was that _everything_ Jesse did had some sort of reason, whether it was clear to anyone else or not.

"You kept track of the shots he had fired," Gabriel said. Because of course he did. He had to.

Jesse nodded. For whatever reason, he didn't seem as tired anymore. He sounded... satisfied? "My leg was the eighth, the guard got unlucky number nine-"

"And you were going to test your theory by making him fire off his last round?" Again, McCree nodded, more energized than before. Him standing up to get shot at suddenly didn't seem so stupid.

For the first time since Gabriel came into the room, Jesse vaguely smiled, as if to himself, and only now, after learning everything that he had, could Reyes see why.

For four fucking years, everyone had disregarded Jesse's observations as nonsense (Gabriel was guilty of agreeing with them), saying it added to his adorable charm and funny personality. They didn't question him. They really just thought he had some cute little quirks. But no one honestly understood what was going on in McCree's brain, not even Reyes. Not until now.

Tonight, Gabriel had figured out just how Jesse had sidestepped all of his peers and superiors (even if it was for a absolutely horrendous reason) and now he was sleuthing out how he had succeeded in talking down an unhinged man with a child hostage. Gabriel had finally figured out the method to Jesse's madness, and the kid couldn't be happier, despite the situation. Once again, he supposed that's what made Jesse one of his best agents. He could observe, assess, and then adapt.

Despite knowing so much already, Reyes found himself almost _eager_ to know just what McCree had been thinking, and for a moment, Jesse seemed delighted to share. He was _understood_. How long had it been since the kid had last felt this way? How long had he been waiting for some kind of connection?

"I’m guessing that that’s why you were scared when Ana was aiming at you. Well, besides the obvious fact that she was _aiming at you_.  She said the reason she did it was to keep you from suffering if you were shot again, but you knew that wasn't going to happen."

"And there was no way I could tell her that, or even tell it to you and Jack," Jesse said. He was certainly responsive, more willing to talk now that they followed one another's thoughts, and Reyes was silently thankful for that.

He couldn't be too thankful yet, however. He knew he was about to address the single topic that had prevented him from coming to Jesse's aid in the first place, and as if reading his mind, Jesse seemed to know it, too.

"What I've been meaning to ask, what you said was bothering me," Gabriel started, speaking slowly as if it could help ease the pain. "What that Andrew kid said about you, about your Deadlock missions...was any of that true?"

Just like on the roof, McCree jerked back as if he had been hit with a physical blow to the stomach, but this time, he chose to stay vulnerable, to not turn into metal and stone. He was staying weak for Gabriel. Thank God Jesse finally felt safe enough to open up.

Still, he had to feel slightly protected in some way (and Gabriel sure as shit didn’t blame him).

The way his knees bunched up to his chest while his arms wrapped around them seemed like such an innocent action, a simply show of discomfort, his desire for protection, but it felt so terribly out of place in this type of conversation. Yet the sudden look of pure shame and regret, the display of emotional agony, was enough to make Reyes vulnerable, too.

How terrible it was, that McCree could talk so casually of his own demise, yet reel back in pain at killing someone else. Did he really have so little value for his own life?

"I never wanted to do any of it," Jesse said. His voice was hardly above a raspy whisper, and it sounded so broken that Reyes wanted to hold him so tightly that he could be put back together again. "They said if I didn't, they'd do it for me, and I couldn't let them. I _couldn't_. They wouldn't make it quick. I know them, I _know_ them."

No tears came from Jesse, but whether it was from dehydration or emotional shock, Gabriel couldn't tell. He only knew that he was suddenly the largest fucking asshole in all of Overwatch for assuming that McCree could ever do something of this magnitude and not feel it so deeply. He knew now that this was a burden that Jesse would carry forever, that this wound that had been healing for so long was now freshly torn to shreds. The pain it brought was unbearable. There was no doubt in Gabriel's mind that _this_ , along with the atrocities that had befallen him on his last couple of missions, were what drove Jesse's attempted suicide. As slowly as he could, Reyes moved from his chair and sat beside McCree on the bed. He waited for some sort of withdrawal or rejection, but when none came, he carefully untangled Jesse from himself and pulled him into his chest. The tears were now automatic.

"There were three of them," he cried, his simply tears slowly turning into ugly, hiccuping sobs. "I tried to use Deadeye for them, I swear I did, but I can't even remember if I did it or not. I don't know if they had to watch each other die. I don't _know_."

How many times had McCree seen Fareeha and had to relive this moment, over and over and over again? How many times had Gabriel felt him wake with a start during the night, drenched in sweat, the one-thousand yard stare going straight through him like a ghost? How many times was this the thing that left McCree crippled in the hallways, leaning against the wall for support as he talked himself down from the sheer and utter dread? Yes, Jesse never talked about Deadlock, never talked about his past, but suddenly Reyes understood why.

How could he have misjudged him, how could he have misjudged _all_ of this, so horribly?

For what felt like hours (which it easily could've been), Gabriel held McCree tightly as he slowly went from sobbing to crying to sniffling. Jesse's head was resting on his chest. Gabriel knew the kid was listening to his heart, how steadily it beat in comparison to his own, just like he had done a million times before. It was a habit that McCree never seemed to break, and one that Gabriel certainly never corrected; if it made the other feel better, then why should he?

"You know I would never leave you, right? I just couldn't, I lo-"

McCree cut himself off swiftly, but when he spoke, his voice almost came out like a broken child's prayer; so small, so scared, so desperate to cling onto something secure. Gabriel had a vague notion as to where Jesse had been going with his sentence. 'Love' was something neither of them said out loud, no matter if they felt it (and if they were being honest, they felt it all the time). No matter if it was them cooking each other breakfast, lavishing one another on a lazy afternoon, or running headfirst into the fray, it was there. It was always there. Still, now was not the time to address that feeling, so Gabriel only ran his fingers through Jesse's hair, gently rubbing at his scalp like he knew the other liked. When Reyes looked up, he could see the clock reading '2:38 AM' in the lamplight.

"I know, Jesse," he said instead. "I know."

Gently, as if afraid to break him, Gabriel carefully detached himself from McCree and moved the man into his hospital bed. It was late, they both knew that, and he needed to sleep. Reyes felt a deep sense of remorse when he pulled the covers up to Jesse's chest; they had been without each other's support for too long, and Jesse was in absolutely no state to be by himself. Even if they had just talked it all out, even if Angela and Jack and Ana knew that Jesse was a threat to himself, he was still too clever for his own good. Who knew what could possibly happen? When Gabriel turned to leave, he felt his chest almost physical ache. The only thing that stopped him, stopped the aching, was a hand that shot out, desperately holding onto his wrist.

"Please, don't go," Jesse begged, " _Please_. I don't want to be alone."

If he stayed, Gabriel knew that someone would see them, that someone would finally know about the thing that they had both been desperate to hide, but as he crawled under the covers with Jesse, he decided, fuck it. Morrison could kiss his ass if he had a problem with it. And besides, when McCree was curled up so tightly against him, finally allowed to sleep with a semblance of peace, how bad could this whole thing really be?

(And if Angela had found them the next morning, tangled up in a small hospital bed and sleeping so soundly, then she had never told a soul)

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to point out any errors! I have no beta, so I might miss some things. Thank you!


End file.
